Asd. I!

Car. Not?

By. You did all.

Asd. Did you not plot?

Car. Yeelded not Asdrubal ?

Asd. But you intic'd me.

Ha. How?

Asd. With hope of place.

Car. He that for wealth leaves faith, is abject.
Ha. Base.

Asd. Doe not provoke my sword; I live.
Car. More shame,

T'outlive thy vertue and thy once great name.

Asd. Upbraid ye me?

Ha. Hold!

Car. Know that onely thou

Art treacherous: thou shouldst have had a crowne.
Ha. Thou didst all; all he for whom mischiefes done,
He does it.

Asd. Brooke open scorne, faint powers!

Make good the campe! No, flie! yes, what? wild rage, To be a prosperous villaine, yet some heat, some hold, But to burne temples, and yet freeze, O cold!

Give me some health; now your blood sinkes: thus deeds Ill nourisht rot; without Jove nought succeeds.

[Exeunt.

? Organ mixt with recorders for this Act,

ACTUS TERTIUS.

SCENA PRIMA.

¶SYPHAX, with his dagger twound about her haire, drags in SOPHONISBA in her nightgowne and peticote, and ZANTHIA and VANGUE following.

UST we intreat? sue to such squeamish eares ?

Know, Syphax has no knees, his eies no

teares;

Inraged love is senselesse of remorce.

Thou shalt, thou must. Kings glory is their force.
Thou art in Cirta, in my pallace, foole.

Dost thinke he pittieth teares that knowes to rule.
For all thy scornefull eyes, thy proud disdaine,
And late contempt of us, now weele revenge,

Breake stubborne silence. Looke, Ile tack thy head
To the low earth, whilst strength of two blacke knaves,
Thy limbs all wide shall straine: prayer fitteth slaves.
Our courtship be our force: rest calme as sleepe,
Else at this quake; harke, harke, we cannot weepe.
So. Can Sophonisba be inforc'd?

Sy. Can? see.

So. Thou mayst inforce my body, but not me.

Sy. Not?

So. Not.

Sy. No?

So. No, off with thy loathed armes,

That lye more heavy on me then the chaines,
That weare deepe wrinckles in the captives limbes,
I doe beseech thee.

Sy. What?

So. Be but a beast, be but a beast.

Sy. Doe not offend a power

Can make thee more then wretched: yeeld to him
To whom fate yeelds. Know Massinissa's dead?
So. Dead?

Sy. Dead!

So. To gods and good mens shame ?

Sy. Help, Vangue, my strong bloud boyles.
So. O yet save thine owne fame.

Sy. All appetite is deafe, I will, I must.
Achilles armour could not beare out lust.

So. Hold thy strong arme, and heare me. Syphax, know

I am thy servant now: I needs must love thee,

For (O, my sex, forgive) I must confesse

We not affect protesting feeblenesse,

Intreats, faint blushings, timorous modestie;

We thinke our lover is but little man,

Who is so full of woman. Know, fayre Prince,

Loves strongest arme 's not rude; for we still prove,

Without some fury there's no ardent love.

We love our loves impatience of delay;

Our noble sex was onely borne t'obey,
To him that dares command.

Sy. Why, this is well;

Th' excuse is good: wipe thy faire eyes, our Queene,
Make proud thy head; now feele more friendly strength
Of thy lords arme: come touch my rougher skin
With thy soft lip. Zanthia, dresse our bed.
Forget old loves, and clip him that through blood,
And hell, acquires his wish; thinke not but kisse,
The flourish fore loves sight, and Venus blisse.

So. Great dreadfull lord, by thy affection,
Grant me one boone, know I have made a vow.
Sy. Vow! what vow? speak.

Let

So. Nay, if you take offence,
my soule suffer first, and yet –
Sy. Offence?

Not, Sophonisba; hold, thy vow is free,
— come thy lips.

As

So. Alas, crosse misery!

As I doe wish to live, I long t' enjoy

Your warme imbrace; but, O my vow, tis thus,
If ever my lord dy'd, I vow'd to him,

A most, most private sacrifice, before

I touch'd a second spouse. All I implore,
Is but this liberty.

Sy. This? goe obtaine:

What time?

So. One houre.

Sy. Sweet, good speed, speed, adieu!

Yet Syphax trust no more then thou mayst view.
Vangue shall stay.

So. He stayes.

Enter a Page, delivering a letter to SOPHONISBA, which she privately reades.

Sy. Zanthia, Zanthia!

Thou art not foule, go to; some lords are oft

So much in love with their knowne ladies bodies,

That they oft love their vailes; hold, hold, thou'st find, To faithfull care kings bounty hath no shore.

Za. You may do much.

Sy. But let my gold do more.

Za. I am your creature.

Sy. Bee, get, tis no staine,

The god of service is however gaine.

[Exit.

So. Zanthia, where are we now? speak worth my

service;

Ha, we done well?

Za. Nay, in height of best.

I fear'd a superstitious vertue would spoyle all,
But now I find you, above women, rare.
Shee that can time her goodnesse hath true care
Of her best good. Nature at home beginnes,
She who's integrity her selfe hurts sinnes.
For Massinissa, he was good, and so;
But he is dead, or worse, distrest, or more
Then dead, or much distressed. O sad, poore,
Who ever held such friends? no, let him goe;
Such faith is prais'd, then laugh'd at; for still know,
Those are the living women that reduce

All that they touch unto their ease and use.
Knowing that wedlock, vertue, or good names,
Are courses and varieties of reason,

To use or leave, as they advantage them,

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